More and more quickly Carmelita circled over the room.
Louder crashed the music, and more hearty became the plaudits.
Fulgencio Higuera drew from his pocket a handful of gold pieces, and flung them at the señorita's feet. Another, another, a dozen others, followed his example.
"Brava! Brava!" cried Marcel Hernandez, tossing handfuls of gold to the ceiling. The pieces fell among the enthusiastic company, who scarcely noticed the glittering shower.
Still, the doña sped on her toes, her skirt still marking in ampler pattern the lines fashioned by her feet. Her very being undulated in response to the weird music.
The applause hushed for a moment.
"C-A-R-M-E-L-I-T-A M-E-N-D-O-Z-A," some one spelled the tracing, letter by letter. "Carmelita Mendoza."
The clamor broke out afresh.
"She has worked her name on the ballroom floor, as part of the dance! Viva! Viva!" they shouted. "Viva! Viva!"
The doña again fluttered up and down, arms outstretched.